


Touch My Hand

by artisticalgorithm



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Based on a True Story, F/F, i wasn't going to admit it but since the ending is actually legit now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-23 00:14:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11978064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artisticalgorithm/pseuds/artisticalgorithm
Summary: When a very nervous girl meets her idol for the first time, things go very wrong... but also completely right.





	Touch My Hand

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in September 2016 for Story a Day 2016, Day 5: Write a story featuring a character very like you.
> 
> This may or may not be based on my actual experience meeting my favorite actor for the first time... Okay, yeah, it is. The ending was just wishful thinking, though. I'm still not entirely happy with the flow of this one, and I was maybe going to never publish it, since it's more like a journal entry applied to a fictional universe, but since the ending more or less came true today (!), a year after the original event, I thought I should post it. Enjoy!

The envelope was waiting on the floor of the entryway when Yachi arrived. “I’m home!” she called softly into the apartment, slipping her shoes off and picking up the envelope. She carried it into the dining area, carefully, gently, placing it on the table while she took off her backpack. The white envelope stared up at her from where it sat. 

It came. This was really happening. 

Hands trembling slightly, she picked up the envelope. It was beautiful--brilliant white, crisp corners, and her name and address carefully handwritten on the front. Well, she thought, I guess I have to open it sometime. She slid her finger under the edge of the flap, tearing the envelope carefully… carefully… 

“Yachi! I thought I heard you come in! Welcome home! How were your classes?”

“Gaaaah!” Hinata’s sudden appearance from behind her startled Yachi into slicing the rest of the envelope open in one swift yank. At least it was a clean tear, she thought, checking her finger for papercuts. 

“Oh! Is that the ticket? Are you excited to go meet Kiyoko? What are you going to talk to her about?” Hinata prodded. 

“Probably nothing,” Yachi replied, carefully sliding the papers out of the envelope. “She’s got a lot of fans, so I doubt I’ll really get to say much. I’m happy that I’ll be able to see her perform live, though, even if I can’t interact with her.” Yachi paused, a sudden thought occurring to her. “Wait. What am I going to wear? It’s not every day you get to be in the same room as your idol, even if she won’t really see you.” She unfolded the letter and took out the ticket.

“Don’t worry about it! Just have fun! It’ll be--” Hinata trailed off when he noticed that Yachi hadn’t moved an inch, just staring in shock at the blue ticket in her hands. “Eh? What’s wrong?” 

Yachi’s eyes slowly moved to meet Hinata’s concerned gaze. “Rows are usually ordered starting with A, right?” 

Hinata just looked at her. “I guess so. I mean, that would make the most sense! But I’ve never really paid attention to it…” 

“I’m on the first row. The first row,” she repeated, letting this news sink in. “What am I going to do?!”

\---

On the day of the event, a very hot and tired Yachi arrived at the basement event venue just minutes before the event was due to begin. She paused outside the door, taking a minute to wipe the sweat from her brow and to calm her rapidly beating heart. Had Tokyo subway stations always been this big and complicated? Did applying makeup correctly always take that much time? And why was it so hot and muggy? Yachi was used to the weather in Sendai, so the sudden increase in humidity was not doing her hair any favors. 

Luckily, she wasn't the only one sliding in just as the event began. She stood in line behind two other girls who were immaculately groomed and stylishly dressed and waited to show her ticket to the event staff. 

As she made her way to the front of the small event hall, Yachi began to feel very self-conscious. She couldn't quite decide if she was underdressed or overdressed in her strappy sandals and sundress, but either way, she didn't feel very pretty. The other girls looked like models, all name-brand clothes and designer purses, clearly doing their best to impress Kiyoko. After paying for school supplies, Yachi had been barely able to afford the trip from Sendai, let alone a whole new outfit. 

She got to the front row and counted out the seats to hers. With a start, she realized that not only was she in the front, she was right in the center of the row, in one of the seats along the aisle. She shoved her things under her chair and sat down, fidgeting with the hem of her dress. There was no way Kiyoko wouldn't at least see her now, and yet all Yachi wanted to do was disappear. 

The lights seemed to grant her wish as they dimmed to near darkness. Suddenly the stage lights came on and music began playing. A spotlight tracked Kiyoko as she walked toward the stage from the back entrance, the silky material of her flowing dress brushing against Yachi’s arm as she walked past. She took her place on the stage and began to sing. 

Kiyoko looked radiant, as always. From the front row, Yachi could see everything with perfect clarity--her perfect skin, her bright eyes, the soft lines of her throat, the delicate bend of her wrists. And her voice; her voice was the most beautiful thing Yachi had ever heard. The recordings Yachi had were good, but they were nothing compared to hearing Kiyoko sing live. The soft, clear melodies put Yachi into a sort of a trance, and too soon, Kiyoko announced that there would be just one last song. 

As Kiyoko left the stage and the final applause died down, a staff member appeared to make an announcement. “As a benefit of coming to the performance, everyone will get a photo taken with Ms. Shimizu. We will start with the first row. Please come and form a line.” 

“Eh?!” Yachi squeaked, noticing the people in her row gathering up their stuff and checking their hair and makeup in tiny handheld mirrors. She scrambled to grab her things and stood up. 

“Please make sure you have everything before you leave,” the staff member reminded them as Yachi nervously lead her row down the aisle. 

“O-oh! E-excuse me.” Yachi choked out, heat rapidly rising to her cheeks as she attempted to make a quick U-turn back to her seat. Of course she would forget her umbrella under the seat. She was finally going to meet her idol, and there she was, messing up the whole line. At least I’ll have a minute more to compose myself, she thought. 

The butterflies in her stomach became more active the closer she got to the front of the line. She could hear Kiyoko’s melodious voice as she made small talk with the event attendees. Yachi started to panic. What would she even talk with Kiyoko about? Due to Kiyoko’s recent rapid rise in popularity, Yachi knew this might be her only real chance to speak with her face-to-face. There was a lot she wanted to tell her, like how seeing Kiyoko’s first performance had moved her to tears, how following Kiyoko’s journey to become a singer had given her the courage to finally apply to design school, how Kiyoko’s voice had propelled her through many a difficult time. But all that seemed too deep for a moment’s conversation, and Yachi didn't want to come off as creepy. 

She was still wrapped up in these thoughts when the girl directly in front of her in line stepped forward to have her picture taken. “I know it's not much, but I wanted to give you this,” the girl said, handing a small, colorful gift bag to Kiyoko, who accepted it with a smile. 

That was enough to pull Yachi back to the present. A gift! Why hadn't she brought a gift?! Or at least a letter! Showing up empty-handed was probably a huge social gaffe and now Kiyoko was going to hate her, or worse, think she was ungrateful for everything Kiyoko had done, and--

“Next, please.” 

Yachi realized that meant her. She followed the example of the girl before her and put her bag and umbrella down on a chair conveniently placed off to the side. Then, with her eyes glued to her feet, she made her way over to where Kiyoko was standing. 

“W-where…?” she stammered. 

“Right here.” In her peripheral vision, she could see Kiyoko gesture to the spot next to her. Yachi stood there and turned to the camera, finally lifting her eyes to look at the photographer. 

“Smile!” the photographer said, and then lowered the camera. “Er, actually, could you stand a little closer?” 

Yachi’s cheeks flushed. She didn't want to bother Kiyoko by invading her personal space, but apparently that was just making things worse. How could this be going so wrong? She shuffled closer to Kiyoko as Kiyoko did the same, and pretty soon they were close enough that Yachi could feel the fabric of Kiyoko’s dress on her arm and the warmth coming off her body. Yachi felt like she couldn't breathe, but apparently that was good enough for the photographer, who raised the camera again. 

Flash! “Nice smiles!” the photographer said, taking the instant photo from the camera and shaking it. 

Yachi jumped back from Kiyoko, worried that she'd been a little too close for the singer’s comfort. Now she definitely couldn't bring herself to look Kiyoko in the eyes. “Sorry,” she told her, but the comment was directed more at her shoes than anything. 

The few steps toward the photographer felt far too difficult for Yachi, who felt more embarrassed than she ever had in her life. If she'd thought that she wanted to disappear before, she most certainly did now. With shaking hands, she took the small photo that the photographer held out to her. “Th-thank you,” she whispered. Cradling the photo in the palm of her hand, she grabbed her bag and made a quick getaway toward the stairway that led to the outside. “Thank you very much,” was all she could say as she passed Kiyoko and turned the corner. 

Once she was out of sight, she paused on the fourth stair and looked down at the photo that she still gently held in her hand. The instant film had developed, and she could see two girls standing there. One of them was absolutely gorgeous, with silky black hair and perfect posture and a shy smile that seemed to light up the whole photograph. The other was girl was shorter, with light hair that didn't seem to want to lay flat, disheveled clothes, an awkward stance, and a forced smile. Yachi carefully lifted one hand and covered the shorter girl, leaving only Kiyoko visible. But all that did was draw her attention to the place where they were touching, and remembering her embarrassment, Yachi burst into tears. 

Today was supposed to be a great day! She was supposed to impress Kiyoko with her effortless style, supposed to chat with her like they were old friends. But looking back on it, those kinds of expectations were totally unreasonable. Yachi should have known she couldn't become a completely different person overnight. She'd always been shy and a bit nervous, so of course this would be the same. She should've known she wouldn't even be able to talk to Kiyoko at all. Maybe she shouldn't have even come. 

Yachi heard footsteps behind her. She wiped her eyes and started up the stairs. She didn't want Kiyoko’s other fans to see her; didn't want to embarrass herself any further. 

“Wait!” A voice called out behind her, one that prior to today, she'd only heard in online recordings and livestreams. It surprised her enough that she stopped, and she felt a slender hand wrap around her wrist. It tugged gently on her arm, urging her to turn around. 

“You’re Yachi Hitoka, right?” Kiyoko asked. 

Yachi couldn't believe her ears. Did her idol actually know her name? “Yes?” Her response came out more as a question than an answer. 

Kiyoko smiled. “I thought I recognized you from your Twitter icon,” she said. “I’m really grateful for all the drawings you send me.” 

Yachi felt her face get hot. Of course, the purpose of replying to Kiyoko’s tweets with little sketches and words of encouragement was to get her to see them, but she didn't think the singer actually saw them. Well, of course she would see them, but… “Y-you’re welcome! And I’m really grateful for all your posts!” 

Kiyoko laughed, a soft noise more magical than anything Yachi had ever heard before. “Well, thank you. But I have a bit of a favor to ask. We’re working on designing the art for my debut album, and I thought of your posts. Would you possibly be interested in helping?” 

She looked up at Yachi, and for a moment, Yachi almost thought she looked a bit nervous about asking. But that didn't make sense. “Of course! Anything for you!” 

Yachi worried that her response might have been too forward, but Kiyoko’s smile lit up the dim stairwell. “I should get back,” she said, turning to head back down the stairs, “but my manager will be in touch. Thank you again for your support.” 

She smiled over her shoulder at Yachi, who yelped, “Thank you! Er, you're welcome!” as Kiyoko disappeared back around the corner. 

Yachi took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart. Had that really just happened? Had her idol not only seen her little scribbly designs, but also liked them enough to want them to be associated with her music? Was Yachi even good enough for that? 

Yachi took the small photo of her and Kiyoko in both hands and held it against her chest. For now, it didn't matter. She still had time to improve, and even if she didn't end up working on the project, it was enough to know that the girl who inspired her so much knew who she was. And maybe someday, she would be good enough to feel like she could stand next to Kiyoko and tell her how she really felt. 

A wave of determination washed over her. It seemed that no matter the situation, Kiyoko had a way of inspiring Yachi to be better. “Let's do this!” she whispered to herself, and she walked out into the bright sunlight. 

In the end, she was glad she came.

**Author's Note:**

> "Yachi couldn't believe her ears. Did her idol actually know her name?" <\--me all of this evening


End file.
